


Beltane

by crimsonherbarium



Series: Wheel of the Year [3]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Beltane, Bonfires, Drinking, Drunk Sex, Lambert is happy for once in his damn life, M/M, Magic, Outdoor Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Riding, Shameless Smut, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-01
Updated: 2019-05-01
Packaged: 2020-02-10 18:15:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18665737
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crimsonherbarium/pseuds/crimsonherbarium
Summary: Beltane marks the beginning of summer, and the time that livestock are driven out to pasture. Tradition calls for every fire in every house to be doused and to be relit from the massive Beltane bonfire. Protective rituals are conducted and charms are cast. There are feasts and wild celebrations.Lambert and Aiden take part in one such festival.





	Beltane

For once, the countryside almost looked cheerful.

Despite the Nilfgaardian advance and subsequent absorption of the territory that had once been Aedirn into its folds, some things would always stay the same. Peasants were a superstitious lot, after all. They were hardly going to abandon the customs their forefathers been following for centuries past, no matter who was ruling, for fear of godly retribution. They might swear fealty to the Black Sun now, but in their hearts they were still citizens of the Northern Realms. It would take a multitude of generations for their customs to finally be forgotten.

And it was Beltane. Perhaps the biggest festival night of the year. Lambert's medallion was practically vibrating off his chest in response to the ambient magic that thrummed through the air. He could hear Aiden's, several feet away, doing the same. Fires burned all around them; pyres sending up fountains of sparks on every surrounding hilltop, illuminating the darkness with a soft amber glow. The two of them almost blended in in the low light. The shadows hid the feline slits of their pupils from the humans who whirled and danced around them. Lambert could smell beer and mead on the breeze. It mingled with the smoke of the bonfires and the sound of dancing feet stamping on packed earth.

Yes, for once, the countryside looked almost cheerful. And, for once, Lambert felt nearly the same. It was nice not to be seen. To shed his swordbelts in favor of a mug of strong ale and a crown of yellow rowan blossoms seated upon his brow, and for Aiden's eager hands grabbing his and leading him off into the thickets on the edge of the field with a mischievous grin on his face as scattered groups of other drunk young couples did the same. Beltane was an experience his witcher upbringing had robbed him of. He could almost imagine that this was home, that he was just another village lad flushed red with wine and hoping for someone to choose him as a partner for a celebratory romp in the bushes.

For miles around the fires roared high, popping and sparking as the devouring flames met pockets of pine resin. The scent drifted on the air like primal incense, permeating the whispering sway of the wheat fields, the tousled hair of the dancing maidens, the sweat-damp fabric of Lambert's clothes. The roar of the celebrating crowd dulled and faded as the witchers slipped away into a thick copse of trees that was just out of sight of the festivities. A breathy moan came from somewhere in the darkness nearby, and Lambert smirked. They certainly weren't the only ones who'd abandoned the light for more carnal celebrations.

The witchers stumbled together through the darkened thicket until they came upon a small clearing under the rustling branches of an enormous oak tree. Lambert sat down amid the soft grass and clovers at its base, leaned back against the trunk, and took Aiden by the hand, pulling him down on top of him. Aiden laughed as he fell to his knees. He looked astonishingly beautiful here, in the faint light of the moon. His face was flushed an appealing red with the wine he’d been swilling; Lambert could smell it on his breath, dark and heady. There was a twinkle in his eye and a sense of complete relaxation and contentment about him that Lambert rarely saw. Most days, even when things were good for them, Aiden carried visible weight in his shoulders. Tonight it was gone, and for that Lambert was glad. Aiden threw back his head and laughed, knocking the rowan wreath that sat atop his chestnut curls askew. 

Lambert couldn’t help but smile as he pressed his lips to the tender flesh of Aiden’s neck and traced the line of one of his scars with the tip of his tongue. The other man shuddered against him, letting out a shocked gasp that was swallowed by the night air. He wrapped his arms around the small of Aiden’s back, drawing him closer as he explored his lover’s skin. He could feel the slight dampness of sweat through the cotton of Aiden’s shirt, taste the salt of it on his tongue. He was warm, and pliant, and carried that same juniper-and-musk scent on his skin that always drove Lambert to madness. 

Aiden tangled his hands in Lambert’s hair and pulled him in roughly for a kiss. Lambert melted into it. He tried to lose himself in Aiden, to forget about monsters and contracts and blood spilled as Aiden’s tongue swirled over his and their breath mingled in a warm cloud of alcohol and desire. He didn’t care about the slight chill in the air, nor the roughness of the bark of the tree at his back. There was only him, and the man he loved, and the magic that still thrummed through the air all around them as the flames of the bonfires soared ever higher. Lambert could see the sparks even from here, flying up toward the heavens as if they sought to be come stars. 

Aiden’s hands had drifted down to the fabric of his shirt, and they were forced to separate for a moment as he pulled it over his head. Lambert’s hand grazed the outline of Aiden’s cock, already straining hard against his trousers, as he made to do the same. Aiden sighed, biting his lip. Desire roared in Lambert like an open flame, greedy to devour every inch of Aiden’s skin just as the Beltane fires devoured the pine branches and straw given to them in offering. 

The buzz of alcohol blurred the edges of the moment, making the colors of things momentarily brighter and stripping the voice in Lambert’s head that usually sought to sabotage him at times like these of its power. Lambert breathed a sigh of relief as the two of them shed the rest of their clothing and Aiden straddled him once more. The warmth of Aiden’s skin against his own was almost too much. He felt as if his heart might burst just from the proximity. How had a whoreson like him ever managed to get this lucky? To eke out even a modicum of comfort on this cruel earth?

That line of thinking was cut abruptly short as Aiden reached between them, taking Lambert’s cock in hand and stroking it. Lambert tipped his head back and moaned, submitting entirely to Aiden’s will. It was Beltane, after all. Beltane wasn’t for doubts and lies and dark things lurking just beyond the horizon. Lambert threw reservation to the wind and busied himself with exploring Aiden’s body instead. The other man made a pleased noise as Lambert’s lips skimmed his nipple. Lambert grinned to himself devilishly and bit it. 

“Fuck you,” Aiden hissed, indigence flashing across his sex- and alcohol-flushed face. 

Lambert pulled him in close, kissing him with much more force than was necessary. “Where’s the oil?” he growled into Aiden’s ear as they broke apart. 

Aiden breathlessly pressed the vial into Lambert’s hands. Lambert groaned as he stroked his own cock to coat it. He drizzled more over two fingers and pulled Aiden close, circling his entrance with them. 

“Mother Melitele,” Aiden gasped. “Please.”

Lambert’s fingers sunk into him up to the second knuckle and Aiden moaned, taking his cock in hand and stroking it. Lambert gritted his teeth as he looked into Aiden’s eyes as anticipation shot through him. The warmth of Aiden’s body. The muscles of his thighs drawn tight on either side of Lambert’s own. The way his breath hitched when Lambert moved his fingers inside him. 

“I want you,” he murmured. In the distance, the celebrating crowd gasped and cheered as some mage taking part in the festivities sent a series of orbs of colorful light soaring into the air, where they exploded and formed shapes. 

Aiden leaned down and kissed him by way of response, his hands knotting in Lambert’s hair as the stubble of his beard scraped against Lambert’s own. Lambert removed his fingers and gripped his cock at the base, lining it up with Aiden’s body. He couldn’t help but let out a moan as Aiden sank down onto it and the tightness and heat of him surrounded him. Aiden tipped his head back, his mouth open in a wordless exclamation. For a moment, there was stillness—nothing but the two of them and the fires all around, breathing hard in the darkness as they got used to the sensation of each others’ bodies.  
And then Aiden began to move.

That was all the invitation Lambert needed. He thrust into Aiden deeply, moving in time with the beat of the drums that carried on the wind from the festival nearby. He was pure sex—sweat and liquor and salty skin melding with Lambert’s under the light of the many artificial suns. 

Perhaps it was the Beltane magic. Perhaps it was the alcohol. Perhaps it was nothing more than the depth of emotion Lambert felt, and that the laws of inhibition that governed this night simply allowed him to show it. Regardless, he couldn’t remember a time when it had ever felt this way. It was as if Lambert himself had ceased to be, and in his place was someone else. Someone who was half of a perfect whole.

A moan, torn from one or both of their throats as Aiden moved against him, made heat shoot through Lambert’s face. He could feel himself throbbing inside Aiden, could feel Aiden squeezing tight around him in response. He ran his hands over the muscles and scars of Aiden’s back, memorizing every mark. 

The drums beat faster, and as their rhythm sped up so did Lambert’s thrusts. The song grew into something wild and frenzied as Lambert lost himself in the motion of their bodies, in the hotness of Aiden’s breath against his skin as he sighed, in the sensation of the scars on Aiden’s neck against his lips. Their love was pure. Unbridled. Desperate. Frantic. 

“I can’t keep this up much longer,” Lambert said through gritted teeth as Aiden’s eyes met his. 

Aiden reached down to stroke his own cock, moving in time with Lambert’s thrusts. “Come for me,” he commanded, his voice strained.

Lambert gripped Aiden by the hips and rutted up hard against him, trading speed for force as he was thrust ever closer to the point of climax. Aiden cried out in response, his own stroking speeding up. Tension built in Lambert as if the ambient magic in the air had chosen to pool instead between his thighs. 

As suddenly as it had built, it released, and Lambert cried out as his thrusts lost their rhythm and he came harder than he ever had in his life. His vision swam, and the clover-filled meadow began to spin in a way that had nothing to do with the alcohol he’d drunk—

Aiden grunted and shuddered on top of him as he came. Lambert reveled in the sensation of Aiden’s body squeezing rhythmically around him as hot droplets of cum painted his stomach. Aiden fell forward against him. His lips found Lambert’s in the darkness. The warmth of them was sharp in contrast with the chill night breeze that Lambert suddenly found himself aware of once more. 

Beltane. Fire and light and blood. Magic and wine and sex. They spoke no words to each other; they didn’t need to. Lambert wrapped his arms around his lover, smiling to himself a little as the rowan blossoms of the wreath Aiden still wore brushed lightly against his cheek. 

Dawn promised itself in the distance. The sky at the horizon had begun to lighten ever so slightly as the inky blackness gave way to the grey of burnt coals. On the hills in the distance, pinpoints of light carved their way along paths worn bare of grass by decades of boots and bare feet making this pilgrimage. The Beltane fires would soon be extinguished, but they would live on in the hearths and homes of the people of this village. Lambert buried his nose in Aiden’s curls and sighed.

A spell cast. A covenant renewed. A curse broken.

**Author's Note:**

> I very much enjoyed myself writing this piece for Beltane. If you enjoyed it, please consider leaving me a comment! I'd love to hear from you :)
> 
> If you want more Lambert/Aiden, check out my [Shattered Silver](https://archiveofourown.org/series/1316405) series for two longer chaptered works featuring the two of them. One is complete; the other is just beginning and updates every other week.


End file.
